World Enough and Time
by ShadowkittenMF
Summary: In which Homura and Madoka find a moment to themselves. Rated M. I risk no one seeing or reading it, but cannot justify a lower rating.


**World Enough and Time.**

In which Homura and Madoka find a moment to themselves.

Rated M. I risk no one seeing or reading it, but cannot justify a lower rating.

Quoted lines of poetry are from _To His Coy Mistress_, by Andrew Marvell (b. 1621 d. 1678).

* * *

_Had we but world enough, and time,  
This coyness, Lady, were no crime _

Madoka's eyes opened.

Her vision was blurry, she could see only at a nose-length away a pair of deep steel-grey eyes peering back into hers. A chill ran down Madoka's spine.

"I remember," she whispered quietly.

Soft as kittens' paws, fingertips played down Madoka's cheek. The faintest touch of warm lips on the tip of her nose, a hand on her hip, the faintest pressure of knees on her thigh.

"Where are we?"

A fingertip slid along Madoka's lips, a face pulling back to allow her to take it all in. Homura, her silken black long hair hanging down to curtain the outside world from their view. A rare smile, the merest hint of emotion beneath an icy armor, and Madoka's heart beat faster.

"Homura?"

A flick of the hand, the curtain parted, Madoka saw the still trees of the park, the warm light of a friendly noontime sun, people walking ... no, they were in various poses of walking, but still as statues.

"What is happening, Homura?"

"What always happens," she replied in a whisper as she leaned back down. Nose touched nose, fingertips grazed earlobe, a bolder hand worked its way up underneath a white school tunic.

"I don't understand," she replied.

Homura's lips touched Madoka's. The faintest sensation, but like an electric current it sent a thrill through Madoka.

"I _do_ remember," she repeated softly, as eager lips again sought to touch Homura. Crushed together in sudden remembered passion lips caressing, tongues exploring, and every inch of skin becoming alive with the intensity of feeling ...

_The grave's a fine and private place,  
But none, I think, do there embrace. _

"Homura," Madoka whispered, "Homura. No. No, I can't. Everyone is gone. Mami, Sayaka, even Kyouko ... how can we do this?"

"How can we not? I have failed again, and I know it. You said you remember. Shall we wait, like Sayaka and Kyouko, to learn when it's too late, what we mean to each other? Or will you let that faint, fleeting memory guide you instead right now?"

"Homura ..."

"Madoka ... don't say anything more. You don't fully understand, and never will, I fear. Just ... let it go ..."

_And while thy willing soul transpires  
At every pore with instant fires,  
Now let us sport us while we may, _

Hands exploring bodies, warmth and comfort exchanged as touch was given, received, sensations thrilling as a soft gentleness now was exchanged for one harder ... a fingernail flicking here, a pinch there, and growing ever greater a heat between the two as memories timeless as their moment flooded back to them, ill-remembered destiny of lifetime after lifetime of hurt and pain and failure but still somehow always coming back here to this one moment. This one moment.

Lips crushed together, a delighted squeal of passionate joy as a playful Homura takes Madoka's lower lip between her teeth and squeezes just enough for the slightest of pain to tingle through, and releasing her captive, Homura's mouth finds its next prey as her kisses reign down her chin, her neck, her chest ...

And not sparing them the sensations ... her petite breasts, her pert nipples, and then down, further down.

Madoka knew pleasures undreamt of, finding in this timeless moment respite from the pain and the horror, only feeling a joy that she had not felt before, yet somehow found so familiar, as though Homura's lips had always trailed languidly down her belly under the warm gaze of a midday sun on an impossibly still day where nothing moved, not even the people who looked as though to walk past unseeing as they found their love again, as always, on a soft carpet of grass beneath a brilliant blue sky.

Yet Homura's lips were not satisfied ...

_Let us roll all our strength and all  
Our sweetness up into one ball,  
And tear our pleasures with rough strife  
Through the iron gates of life: _

In the moment she felt Homura's tongue, lips, teeth, on her most private and sensitive self did the full impact of this moment hit her. She had never felt this, and yet had always known it.

It had been an eternity of Homura and Madoka locked together in love, nothing else ever coming between them, no other meaning or purpose or event but them always and forever together, in this one timelessness.

Breathy cries of passion tore from Madoka to echo throughout the frozen universe, filling Homura's ears with the only sound that had ever brought her any real sense of fulfilment or accomplishment in her impossible task.

She knew she would lose Madoka again.

Again.

And again.

But in this eternal now, the sounds made her realize that their love would survive all possible obstacles, even were it only realized and shared in this moment across all time-lines where the concept Madoka and the concept Homura would find realization.

_Thus, though we cannot make our sun  
Stand still, yet we will make him run. _

Timeless ... but not eternal.

Madoka lay in the grass as tears streamed down her cheek as she watched the trees moving in the soft breeze, and a butterfly cavorting amongst a cluster of flowers, and a group of children laughing at the antics of a puppy, blissfully ignorant of the impending doom.

The moment had ended, Madoka's body safely encased in its layers of cloth cooled down as Homura's touch gradually was forgotten, her eyes no longer searing into Madoka's, her face no longer seen.

Madoka closed her eyes.


End file.
